Chapter 6

I dragged my battered body home. I didn't call the police. I didn't go to the hospital. There was no point.

The boutique, feeling guilty, had sent the white dress to my home. It was torn and dirtied from the chaos. I paid the delivery person and took the box inside.

I sat in the dark, silent house, waiting.

Cole was gone for two days. No calls. No texts. Nothing.

On the third day, I woke up feeling strangely energetic. It was the final surge of life before the end.

I took a long bath, washing away the blood and grime. I put on the ruined white dress. I did my makeup carefully, covering the bruises as best I could. I was preparing to meet my family.

Then the phone rang. It was Cole. His voice was cold, devoid of any warmth.

"Be at the Grand Hotel ballroom at two p.m. Don't be late." He didn't ask. It was an order.

I knew I had no choice. This was it. Today was the day.

I told my driver to change course.

When I arrived at the hotel, a wall of reporters was waiting. The flashes of their cameras were like machine-gun fire.

Cole appeared at my side, grabbing my arm in a bruising grip. He dragged me through the crowd and into the ballroom.

My feet felt unsteady, the world swaying around me. On a large screen behind the stage, giant words glowed: "A Public Apology."

Cole pushed a microphone into my hand.

"Apologize to Karma," he commanded, his voice a low growl only I could hear. "Tell them you bullied her because you were jealous. Tell them you accept her. I'll let her be your god-sister. It's the only way to fix this mess."

He wanted to legitimize her. To bring her into our lives, into our family, while I was still his wife. The sheer audacity of it was breathtaking.

A bitter taste filled my mouth.

"And who are you to demand this?" I asked, my voice surprisingly clear. "Her husband? Her lover? The father of her child?"

His grip tightened, his knuckles white. "Don't test me, Eleanor. If you don't do this, I will personally call the hospital and cancel the donor heart. You will die, and I will make sure it's a painful death."

A laugh, dry and humorless, escaped my lips. He flinched, a flicker of unease in his eyes.

"Apologize," he hissed again.

I took the microphone. The cold metal felt like a weapon in my hand. I looked out at the sea of expectant faces, and my eyes landed on Karma, sitting in the front row, a smug, victorious smile on her face.

"I am not sorry," I said, my voice ringing through the silent room. "I have done nothing wrong. The person who should be apologizing is Karma Smith."

Cole's face went pale with rage.

I ripped my arm from his grasp. "The biggest regret of my life was not loving Cole Solomon. It was helping a snake named Karma Smith. She is the reason my father is dead. She is the reason my mother is gone. She is the reason my family is destroyed!"

The room erupted. Reporters scrambled, shouting questions.

Karma let out a cry and rushed towards the stage. "Eleanor, how can you say that!"

I instinctively put my hands up to ward her off.

It was exactly what she wanted. She didn't even touch me. She veered at the last second, slamming her pregnant belly into the sharp corner of the podium.

A dark stain of red spread across her white dress.

"My baby!" she screamed, her eyes wide with feigned horror.

Cole moved like a lightning strike. He shoved me aside, sending me stumbling backwards.

Then he slapped me. The force of the blow snapped my head back, and I tasted blood again.

I looked at him, really looked at him. The love I once felt was gone, replaced by a vast, empty void. In his eyes, I saw pure, unadulterated hatred.

"You will pay for this with your life," he snarled.

He scooped Karma into his arms and ran from the ballroom.

Reporters swarmed me, but Cole's bodyguards appeared, grabbing me and forcing me into a car. They drove me to the hospital and left me outside in the snow.

I heard Karma's theatrical sobs echoing from an open window. "My baby... my poor baby... it's all my fault. I shouldn't have gone to see her."

Cole emerged from the hospital entrance, his face a granite mask of grief and fury.

He looked down at me, his eyes as cold as the winter sky.

"Kneel," he commanded. "Kneel and atone for what you've done."

My lips were numb. I couldn't speak.

Two of his bodyguards grabbed my shoulders and forced me to my knees in the falling snow.

I didn't struggle. I just tilted my head back and looked up at the grey, weeping sky. It was beautiful.